Sweet Touch
by Sapsorrow86
Summary: Part of the Starbucks Series, set some time after Addiction but before Withdrawal. Belle is sweet, soft and warm and Gold can't quite get enough of her. Based on that exfoliation technique post going around tumblr.


Nicholas had honestly thought that he was a man that preferred hissolitude. People intruding in his private quarters, his space, irked him, made him ill at ease, tense. It was the reason why his assistant all but trembled when she had to set foot in his office, his home away from home. The reason why he'd fired seven cleaners before finding one that would clean his penthouse following precise, specific instructions. He had come from nothing, from a tiny little flat where a mattress in a corner of the living-room/dining room/kitchen had served as his bedroom. From even dingier accommodations during college where he shared first a one-room apartment with three roommates and afterwards, during Law School, what Millie had at first affectionately and then sardonically called "a shack".

When he'd made it, really made it, it had become easy to at last give in to his urge to shut the rest of the world out for at least a few hours every day and enjoy his solitude. Giving in to the headiness of his newfound wealth he spent a lot of time decorating his modern castle. He'd picked out every piece of furniture, every rug, every finishing. He had carved himself, through the strength of his own will, his place in the world and he'd never been keen to share.

It had been a surprise, then, the thrill he'd gotten the first time he'd come home to see Belle's purse slung on a side table in the entrance hall. One of Belle's ever-present books peaked out of it, letting him know that its owner was inside, making herself at home in his domain and it had absolutely... entranced him. He'd followed the faint but visible trail she had left- her coat on the coatrack nearby, her gloves on a nearby coffee table, her scarf tossed on the back of an armchair- to the main suite, where he'd found her red heels teasing him from beneath a chair where all of Belle's other clothes were folded. He'd heard the shower running and after pausing to divest himself of his own three-piece suit and Testoni's he'd entered his en suite bathroom. Ridiculously spacious, with a shower designed to simulate rain and custom-made marble benches sprouting out of the walls to allow him to seat when his knee was playing up, the bathroom had always been one of his favourite places, the heart of his lair. And yet Belle, singing off-tune as she rinsed her hair, looked like she'd made herself quite at home. She'd noticed him only when he'd slid the glass door of the shower open, smiling and telling him she was almost done with the shower if he needed to use it.

"Nevermind that, sweetheart."

He'd pounced on her like some wild animal, using the rails he'd installed on the shower to keep himself upright as he fucked her up against the slick marble wall, delighting in the scent of her shampoo and body wash and the notion that she'd brought them with her. Over the course of the following weeks he'd made it his life's purpose to try every room in his penthouse until there wasn't a corner of it which wouldn't evoke in him memories of being inside Belle, feeling her legs around his waist and her breath against the side of his neck.

After that he'd actively encouraged Belle to leave her imprint around his penthouse. He'd given her a space in his walk-in closet for some "spare clothes", a couple of shelves in the bathroom for her make-up and other toiletries and had declared every flat surface he possessed as a bookcase for her ever-present book trail. Belle read at least seven at the same time, switching from one to the other depending on her mood, and each time she left one more at his home he saw it as a personal victory, especially when one of those newly-acquired tomes was what he deemed one of her "pick-me-up" books, ones she read after a particularly bad day. Those books he coveted in secret, keeping them in visible places so Belle could locate them easily if she needed to.

It became routine to check the side table by the door each time he entered his apartment, to see if Belle's purse was there, feeling a pleasant little jolt every time he spotted it. But that evening it wasn't the purse that alerted him to Belle's presence but rather the sweet smell wafting through the house, coming from the en-suite bathroom. He briefly toyed with the idea of not acting like some pathetic love-sick puppy trotting in search of its master before shrugging out of his coat and limping towards the source of the smell.

"Well, this is an interesting sight."

Belle was perched on the marble bench of his shower, which surprisingly wasn't running. She was naked but for her cotton underwear- which he'd been steadily trying to replace with La Perla's frothy lace creations, which Belle loved but couldn't afford- and was rubbing some sort of brown-gold, textured substance into every uncovered part of herself with the exception of her face. In the places she'd already covered she seemed to have sprouted lizard-like scales, such was the effect the light gave off.

"You're not allowed to mock the person who knows you wear black socks with bright pink polka-dots for luck."

The notion that she was well aware of one of his secret shames didn't feel him with dread, as he'd expected. It rather struck him as charming that she'd noticed his peculiar lucky charm without him saying anything.

"What are you even doing, if I may ask?"

Belle slathered some of whatever that concoction was on one of her legs, making sure to rub it all over her skin.

"I saw this exfoliation technique on the internet and I wanted to give it a try. I'd have done it at my apartment but the water heater's broken and I was gonna get dressed for the thing tonight so I thought I'd do it here."

He wasn't surprised at the jolt of pleasure he got out of the notion Belle felt comfortable enough to commandeer his bathroom without a second thought. He made a show out of looking disgruntled that he would have to use the other bathroom but he could tell his posturing and grumbling didn't fool her. The notion of Belle getting ready so nearby- almost as if this was their home and situations like that were par for the course- filled him with almost manic giddiness. He showered, shaved and dressed without the dread that he usually felt whenever he needed to go play nice with Lucia Blau, self-righteous bitch who happened to control the "charity scene" in New York City. She organized most major events, with a few exceptions, and everyone in the business world strove to remain on her good side to get invitations to said events. Besides all the usual networking that went on in them they were the best sort of PR move one could wish for. Companies "Blau approved" were generally well-portrayed in the media. In the case of Gold his hefty donations and casual appearances on one of Blau's events kept him from being completely portrayed as an opportunistic, ruthless deal-maker.

Blau hated him with a burning passion. Thankfully she loved his money so she usually put a fake smile on her face and tried to avoid him at all social events, which worked with him. Every now and then, though, she'd get overly-preachy and attempt to instil some sense of goodness into him via long, judgemental sermons. She seemed to find fault with every single aspect of his life, from his business practices and his rather lacking sense of morality to his physical appearance and even, he wagered, the way he breathed.

"Remember the plan, Belle. We stick it out till after dinner. If we leave early we will be spotted and I won't have that fucking bitch holding that over my head. Might as well do this all the way."

Blau's parties made Gold as amiable as a visit to the dentist and he knew that, sadly, Belle would likely be the one to bear the brunt of his bad temper. He'd apologized to her beforehand, had made her promise she would put him in his place if he got to be too much of a beast, but he still felt uneasy about having her glimpse that ugly side of him, much less attempt to keep it caged. He was already planning on how to make it up to her, perhaps prepare brunch in the morning and serve it in the patio, or entice her into a viewing of North &amp; South in which he promised not to frown or look otherwise affronted whenever she sighed because Richard Armitage's cravat was undone.

He turned around when he heard the clacking of her heels against the hardwood floor and for a moment he felt speechless. The dress fit her to perfection, having been tailored to her petit frame. The red of the fabric was decadent and yet it was softened by the romantic overall look of the dress, the soft pleats simulating the petals of a rose. The daring neckline was somewhat compensated by the sweetness of the gown itself, and Belle's demure diamond studs and her hair gathered in a bun on the side completed the look. His eyes drifted for a moment to her pewter-coloured heels and her stocking-clad legs, wondering if she was wearing a garter belt beneath that adorable ensemble, the lacy sort that would feel delightfully rough against the pads of his fingers.

"You make this hellish night almost seem worth it."

The ride to the event was quiet, the silence amiable and comfortable rather than stilted and awkward. Belle checked her phone, Mal likely sending her e-mail after e-mail simply to revel in the fact she had found a loophole in their contract to intrude on his time with Belle. For some reason, however, he couldn't bring himself to resent it. He felt rather mellow, even though he was looking at at least two hours of inane conversation and sanctimonious platitudes from Blau. He took a deep breath, enjoying the faint aroma of vanilla that he figured came from Belle. It reminded him of when they'd met. She'd smelt of vanilla back then as well, mixed with the strong undertone of coffee, and to this day whenever he drank a cup he was reminded of her.

Belle was by his side the moment they stepped out of the car, seemingly unconcerned with the many photographers snapping pictures of them. He, on the other hand, tightened his hold on his cane to make sure he wouldn't trip and fall of anything else equally embarrassing and strove to hide beneath his hair- his mane, as Belle was fond of calling it.

Once in the venue, the Atrium inside the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, he divested himself of his coat and watched as Belle did the same, looking to see if the solicitous coat checker was keeping his hands where they should be. Once their coats were whisked away Nick was quick to slide his left around Belle's waist and lead her in the direction of the party. He noticed the smell of vanilla was even more overpowering without her coat on to stifle it and that her skin, when the knuckles of his left hand brushed against the underside of her arm, felt strange. Softer than usual, almost unnaturally so. He turned his head to ask Belle about it but he found her, once again, focused entirely on her phone, typing something ridiculously fast. Beginning to feel the slightest bit miffed about it he steered them towards the direction of the bar, where he downed one glass of scotch before asking for another. At least the alcohol wasn't subpar. Blau, for all her talk of thinking solely of her many causes, threw quite expensive parties. Surely the revenue for each of them couldn't be very high, if one were to do the numbers.

Spotting a bottle of 2008 Egon Müller Riesling he asked the waiter to pour him a glass, which he used to shamelessly tempt Belle, since taking the glass would force her to surrender her phone to her clutch. He hid a smirk when it worked, and as his lovely girlfriend took a rather hearty sip of her drink Nick gave into the impulse and slid a hand down her arm, inhaling sharply when his brain registered the silky smoothness of her skin. Belle had never felt this supple, not even on the inside of her upper thighs, where her skin was the softest. Trying to act natural he made as if he was brushing a stray curl back, tucking it into her side-bun, then let his fingers casually graze the side of her neck and the top of her collarbone. The skin was just as delicate there and he found himself forcing his hand back before the touches became too inappropriate for a public setting.

"Whatever were you doing in the bathroom earlier?" His brain, though addled by a bit of drink and a lot of arousal, still had managed to connect the dots.

"It was an exfoliation technique. A bit of sugar, some olive oil and a few drops of vanilla extract scrubbed against the skin and removed with a blunt razor. It was just something I read on the Internet."

She sounded the littlest bit embarrassed, which meant she hadn't caught on to his dilated pupils and his wandering hands. They were interrupted before he could decide whether to set her straight or not, by a passing waiter offering hors d'oeuvres and then by some Vanderbilt- there was always at least one of them present at every charity event of some importance, though they usually were reluctant to leave the confines of Manhattan.

After shaking the bore off, Gold practically snarling in his direction to get him to leave, they mingled for a bit outside the Atrium, waiting for the dinner to start. Belle's attention was constantly being stolen by her phone and whatever fake emergency Mal was communicating through it, everyone who talked to him was a bleeding idiot and the only saving grace were the glasses of scotch a waiter kept supplying after a hundred dollar incentive to simply follow him around and hand him a drink every time he downed his current one.

He was relieved when they were all ushered inside the narrow atrium where a long table was set. Knowing Blau he looked for their seats on the furthest corner, knowing her pettiness would show itself one way or the other, and was rewarded with their names on small cards. Their seats were quite secluded and though he knew it was meant to be a slight he couldn't help but find himself grateful for it, since his hands could not keep themselves away from Belle's uncovered skin for more than a few seconds at best. It was the smell, the scent of vanilla, one he associated so strongly with the first time they'd been intimate. Her usual perfumes always had a trace of it- reason why sometimes in the midst of foreplay he found himself acting more like a bloodhound than a boyfriend- but it had never been so strong, so attention-grabbing.

At first he tried to pretend he was brushing some imaginary spec of dirt from her arm or casually calling her attention by rubbing her shoulder, if that was at all possible or believable. Thankfully, or not, Belle was too busy answering e-mail after e-mail from Mal- he'd make a quip in the near future about how sad it was the way she spent her Friday nights- and making small chat with some incredibly old fellow who he was sure had stopped breathing at least twice since they'd sat down.

While he used his right hand to hold the fork and pretend to eat- or, more often, to grab his glass of wine and actually drink- his left got braver and braver as time went on, tracing the inside of Belle's forearm, where the skin was satiny smooth, and then wandering up the slope of her shoulder and then tracing nonsense patterns into the nape of her neck. It was a cheap shot, of course, knowing how sensitive she was in that particular area, but she barely seemed to notice it. He, on the other hand, could not get enough of the softness of her skin paired with the barest hint of fuzz.

At some point after the over-praised lasagne was removed but before they could move on to what promised to be a very tiny portion of a very exclusive French desert- he always left Blau's parties hungry, and usually stopped at some pub for a spot of something greasy and a Guinness to wash away the lump in his throat- his hands stopped exploring her upper body as if they hadn't already mapped it out a hundred times before and settled lower, using the tablecloth as camouflage as they found their way to the warmth of Belle's thighs. The silk of the stockings felt rough against the pads of his fingers and he dared slip them under the hem of her dress, not knowing whether to feel relieved or angry that Belle was too busy typing away to notice any of it.

Someone called his attention when he was about to go beyond the lace trimming of the stocking to the space between it and the garter belt that was all bare skin. Gruffly he turned his head to make eye-contact with the person sitting to his right and thankfully all it took was a well-placed glare and some words barked in his thickest Scottish accent to make it clear he was not to be addressed at any moment in the future. Unfortunately Blau chose that moment to get up and deliver her speech- oh, _trees_, they were trying to save _trees_\- and nothing quite killed his desire as her grating voice droning on about whatever "good work" she was currently involved in.

The guests started leaving the table as soon as she was done and as much as he wanted them to remain there so he could go back exploring the never-ending smoothness of Belle's upper-thighs she rose as well, now phone-free and determined to mingle, if only so that Nick could be fully seen at the event by all the key people that mattered. Doing the rounds just meant he was all but plastered to her side, the scent of vanilla so heavy it was making his head spin. He must have tripped or something because Belle looked up at him, frowned, and determined he needed some air. Probably thought he was a wee bit drunk, which wasn't exactly untrue.

"Come on, Nick, let's take a stroll outside. I've never been to this Botanic Garden before."

The air outside the Atrium was refreshingly cool and for a moment the breeze drove away the smell of vanilla. Looking to get away from the noise and the people he walked her past the Lilly pool terrace and further east till they found themselves in the Tropical Pavilion. He vaguely recalled Blau talking about tropical plants in her speech but for the life of him he couldn't remember what she had said exactly. The Pavilion itself was well-illuminated, with some sort of "Sounds of the Tropical rainforest" soundtrack playing on a loop. Finding themselves a bench he sat down and tugged Belle down to his side, feeling oddly playful. That playfulness vanished the moment she reached for her cellphone.

"I'm sorry, Nick, it's just that Mal's having a little crisis."

His snort of incredulity left no doubt as to what he thought of Mal and her current "crisis". Belle, however, seemed to be taking it seriously and though he knew how much she took her work seriously, how devoted she was to making it at Uni Global, to show what she had to offer and be respected, he couldn't help but feel childishly affronted by the whole thing. He leaned close to try and get a peek at whatever she was writing but the moment his nose brushed against the skin of her shoulder his focused shifted completely. Whatever the fresh air and walked had done was undone in a matter of seconds, the alcohol burning away in his stomach creating a pleasant haze of disinhibition. His hands remembered their early quest and dove back into it with gusto, just as his nose started exploring her neck, wanting to find the spot where the scent of vanilla was strongest. He forgot all about Blau's sanctimonious platitudes somewhere between Belle's supple upper thighs, as smooth as satin, and his nose found the perfect scenting spot right below her ear. It was a veritable feast for the senses, more so when an experimental lick of her neck lead to the realization that his girlfriend didn't just smell like vanilla... she tasted of it too.

"Sweetheart..."

He half-hissed, half-groaned the word, for a moment lost in the moment. He thought of the charity event just a few feet from them, full of half-drunk socialites mingling about and matrons ready to cluck their tongues at their daring. He pictured Blau and how affronted and downright disgusted she'd be with the mere notion of anyone sneaking around at a party of hers to actually enjoy themselves. The forbidden aspect of it took him back to his early days of fantasizing about Belle, back when he'd thought she'd be forever off-limits, and though he was glad he'd been proven wrong, he had to admit he missed the taboo nature of his first fantasies.

He carefully licked a path down her throat and over the gentle slope of her shoulder, his hands nudging her knees apart to have more space to work with. With tender care he nibbled at the place where her neck met her jaw, the taste bringing back memories of their first time together and the caramel he'd licked off her upper body. He was rewarded with a quiet little sigh, a sound he knew Belle made when she was striving to concentrate on something other than his attentions but failed completely. That sound was like a roar of triumph in his ears and he couldn't help the smirk that spread across his face when he heard it.

"Nick?"

She sounded more puzzled by his advances than opposed to them, which was a relief. Taking the still-present sounds of texting as a personal challenge he moved the hand on her thigh even further up, his fingers briefly brushing up against the lace of her garter belt before they reached once more the smoothness of her skin and the slickness of her underwear- something silky that certainly wasn't the cotton panties she'd had on a few hours earlier. He pressed against the fabric, pleased beyond measure when that gained him another surprised little sighed from his sweetheart. She felt her shift beneath him, the sound of her clutch being opened and then closed with a snap leading him to believe Mal and her e-mails had been finally shoved aside for the rest of the night. With his mouth still firmly latched onto her neck he manoeuvred her on top of him, by some miracle avoiding jolting his bad knee in the process. The wooden bench wasn't the most comfortable surface ever and his little beauty wiggled on top of him, desperate to find some position that would avoid leg cramps and would accommodate the voluminous skirt of her dress.

Unable to help himself he buried his face between her breasts, the daring neckline of the gown affording him the opportunity to do so. The smell was almost overpowering there, and the skin there was the smoothest he'd ever touched. In his drunk, addled state, there was no peace like that he found there, nestled in warmth and softness, while his love sunk her fingers in his hair and cradled the back of his head. Fuck being alone. Fuck his space, fuck his little kingdom, his lone-wolf habits. He had always been, albeit unknowingly most of his life, half of a whole and it had never been clearer than right then and there, as Belle's nimble hands unbuckled his pants, grasped his cock and slid her panties aside to welcome him inside her. Their position didn't lend itself to a lot of movement but he frantically tried anyway to thrust up, to bury himself inside her wet, warm cunt. His tongue lapped at the valley between her breasts, tasting vanilla with the salty edge of Belle's own sweat, his hands diving once more beneath her clothing to grasp her upper thighs firmly and drive himself deeper into her, rougher than he usually was with her. He wanted her to need him too, in her daily life, in the small, everyday things, as much as he already needed her. He wanted her clothing right next to his, her books everywhere in his apartment, her earrings mixed with his cufflinks, her shampoo right next to his. Her softness, her sweetness, to balance all his sharp edges and underlying bitterness.

Though he couldn't bring himself to vocalize all his wishes and secret desires he strove to tell her with actions, in the frantic, almost desperate rhythm of his hips and the muffled moans against the exposed skin of her breasts. One of his hands slid towards her sex, looking amongst the slippery flesh for her clit. He knew of his triumph by the way she arched against him, the way her fingers tightened, pulling at his hair and the way the muscles of her cunt gripped him tight, sending him over the edge. He gripped her tight about the waist once he was spent, loathing the idea of letting her go. She was soft and warm and sweet-smelling and...

"Who's out there?"

Blau's voice had never sounded more judgemental, and like a bucket of ice-cold water it sobered him up and got him moving in a second. Hurriedly he did up his pants and buckled his belt while Belle scrambled off him and fixed herself up as well. Her silk stockings were ripped around her knees and her exposed collarbone was full of bite marks, but by the time she'd finished checking her hair and Blau had rounded the corner, chancing upon them, she was the picture of ease and composure.

"What is the meaning of this?"

There could only be one meaning, really, and though Nick didn't letting Blau see how happily in love he was, he didn't want the socialite's little claws to sink on his Belle in return.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Where you looking for Mr Koldun? I'm afraid he's not here."

The other woman's face went very pale for a second before her lips pursed further and her eyes narrowed in his Belle's direction. A glacial smile spread across Lucia Blau's face, almost grotesque in the dim light of the pavilion.

"I'm sorry to say that they'll be closing the pavilions soon. Best get out of here before we're all locked in."

Gold knew there was something happening that he wasn't privy to. Koldun, he knew, was a Russian businessman, whose wife, Sonia, was well-known for being close friends with Ivana Trump. Koldun offset his rather shady Eastern European business deals with his many charitable pursuits, but he'd never heard of any connection between the magnate and Lucia Blau.

"Oh, we're so sorry, we'll get out of here right away. Best be going home anyway, it's getting a bit chilly in any case."

Belle's sugary-sweet tone hid some very palpable acid. But Blau, far from retaliating, smiled one last time, or tried to at least, and walked away with as much dignity as she possibly could. And though Belle still looked as innocent as she did at the beginning of the outing in her rose dress, and was as warm, as sweet-smelling and as warm as before, he caught a glimpse of the steel underneath, sharp and strong.

It was to be expected. Wolves didn't mate with rabbits, after all.


End file.
